Robert’s Second Chance: Dance of Dragons Rewritten

Hours Prior

Aegon

After the Gullet and Oldtown, I'm not certain the poor boy shall ever recover, Aegon thought sympathetically as one of the nursemaids guided Aegon the Younger back to the nursery. The boy hadn't said a word the entire flight back to King's Landing, and he'd only just stopped shaking. His dark purple eyes were wide and fearful, and Aegon hoped that being with his brother again would help settle him.

Unfortunately, he would have to trust the nursemaids to see to his wellbeing. At the moment, the King had far greater concerns on his plate. Like how in the Seven Hells he was supposed to describe what he'd seen in Oldtown to his mother and grandfather.

His mother wept when he told her the Starry Sept had been burned, along with the City Watch, the reserve Hightower soldiers, and the ships. But of the High Tower itself, the words stuck in Aegon's throat, strangling him every time he tried to speak them. He almost wished the family had met in the Small Council chamber instead of his royal suite. Perhaps then he could speak of it as if it were a political event.

Sensing his anxiety, Helaena gently reached over and gave his hand an awkward, encouraging pat, and the effort swelled Aegon's heart with love for her. He knew Helaena was tense and anxious and worried too. And his queen hated physical contact when she was tense, anxious, or worried. She'd done it for his sake.

"The High Tower…" Aegon steeled his spine, resolved to speak as a King and not a frightened little boy. "The High Tower was attacked as well," he said. "The metalwork and windows will all need to be replaced, and inside, there were a series of fires that destroyed furnishings and some artwork. But everything truly valuable was stored in the vaults beneath, and thus was untouched by dragonfire…"

Alicent wrinkled her nose. "Material possessions can be replaced," she sneered. "What of our kin?"

Like a King, not a frightened little boy, he reminded himself.

"Many survived," he said. "Many of our kin and the servants. The lookouts spotted the dragons, and many managed to get to the safety of the crypts and vaults beneath the tower."

"Many?" Otto asked him softly, his eyes already shining with grief. "Many? Not all."

Aegon shook his head solemnly. "No. Not all."

Otto's two remaining sons had lived, as had a handful of cousins. But no one had expected Oldtown to be attacked because it was not a seat of power and there were no armies in the area. Thus, the Tower residents were merely going about their normal lives. The Lord's apartments were at the top of the tower and, tragically, were first burned. Those within had not managed to descend the staircases in time.

"Hobert is dead," Aegon confirmed. "As is Lyonel, Martyn, Garmund, and Lady Sam."

Otto drew a deep, shaking breath and leaned forward, burning his face in his hands while Alicent and Helaena wept. "Ormund lost his entire family in a single day," he said softly. "Where they should have been safe while he was at war."

"B-Bethany still lives," Helaena whispered through her tears. "Ormund sent her to Highgarden with Jaehaera. So she would have family whilst alone in a new castle."

Bethany, Ormund's only daughter, had only just passed her thirteenth nameday. One living child out of four. Hopefully, her survival would give Ormund some solace. 

Even so, no words Aegon said could possibly ease the blow, and so he said in silence, quietly mourning along with his family.

"This must end," Alicent said, shaking her head as she pressed a handkerchief to her face. "This war must end. Our kin, our people, even the ones who've allied themselves with Rhaenyra, are dying by the thousands. If it is not ended soon…"

Then thousands more shall die. Alicent was right. Their countrymen were suffering. Those aligned with them and those aligned with Rhaenyra. Aegon was sworn to defend all of Westeros and act in the best interest of all his people.

And I will.

"I mean to end it," Aegon agreed, rising to his feet. He let his gaze linger on Helaena. On her tear-filled eyes shining with worry. But she offered no warnings of anything sinister to come, and so he declared, "I shall not return home until I do."

Robert

"If we have not already reclaimed Harrenhal," Robert declared when he arrived in Aegon's chambers, summoned by the King, "then it shall be done shortly, Your Grace. Our armies were instructed to take advantage of the absence of Caraxes and Syrax to launch their attack."

Though I hope I have not angered the Northerners by asking them to march for nothing…But there was no other option. Cregan needed to meet Black Aly, and the only way that was going to happen was to get him south of the Neck.

Now, as for how I'm going to actually arrange for them to meet…

"Sunfyre is ready to bring me to Harrenhal, Lord Borros," Aegon declared. "And I mean to stay with my brothers and my men until the war is won and we've restored peace to the realm. My grandfather has been instructed to sit the throne in my absence, and Helaena and Dreamfyre will patrol the city daily to act as a deterrent…assuming the threat to strap Viserys to a scorpion bolt was not sufficient."

With luck, we will not need to resort to that. Regardless of whether or not it was done to save lives, strapping a toddler to a scorpion bolt may taint Aegon's reign. 

As for how Robert was going to handle Viserys…that was yet another thing he had yet to decide.

Unlike in the original timeline, Viserys would never meet Larra Rogare, and thus would never have children with her that would eventually lead to the Mad King's birth. Nonetheless, allowing him to breed with anyone might be equally risky. The Dance was not the only Targaryen civil war, and should Daemon's sons marry into strong Houses, there may be conflict in the future.

I will have to handle that conversation carefully.

"Your Grace," Robert said, bowing his head respectfully. "Allow me to accompany you to Harrenhal."

Aegon raised his eyebrows, but Robert continued. "I am your Master of War. The planning stage is over, and we are now in the thick of it. My fighting men from the Stormlands will be arriving to defend King's Landing in the absence of the Hightower armies, but I myself can coordinate best if I am by your side."

And mayhaps play matchmaker with Cregan.

The King thought it over for a moment, and then nodded slowly, smirking teasingly. "You will need to ride on dragonback," he declared. "Fortunately, Sunfyre can carry two."

Seven Hells…well, I suppose death by falling off a dragon is less embarrassing then death by pig.

"You honor me, your grace," Robert answered.

"Very well then, don your armor and be ready in fifteen minutes."

My armor…

Borros Baratheon had armor, of course, but Robert had commissioned a new set, and at last, it was ready. An exact replica for the armor he'd once wore when he was a young man fighting his Rebellion, including the massive helm of a stag's antlers.

And his war hammer was polished and at the ready.

Rhaenyra

Pyke was hideous.

She knew the archipelago would not be an architectural wonder, but the castle structures atop the stone formations were gloomy. Dour. Even gazing upon them made Rhaenyra feel cold, a hint of sickness in her chest.

No wonder the Iron Born are so foul-tempered, she mused. I would be too, if I had to live here.

But she was not here for a social visit, and with the desperateness of their situation, she would not care if the castle was built atop a mountain of shit.

We do not, under any circumstances, enter the castle itself, Daemon had warned her. He was armed and armored, but they were alone, and he did not trust the Iron Born not to harm her. We stay where Dalton Greyjoy can see the dragons at all times.

Happily the Red Kraken did not fault them for their lack of trust. Expected it, even, descending from his castle to meet with them on the cliffs instead.

"Word has reached me of the fall of the Sea Snake," Dalton said after greetings were made. "Our navy is not half so large, and you do not have half so many dragons as when the war with your brother began. If it is your intent to ask me to risk my ships and my men to fight the Triarchy…"

"No," Daemon corrected, speaking for her as they planned he would. "The Battle of the Gullet is lost, and we have no intention to revisit it." He smiled. "At least not yet."

Dalton raised an eyebrow. "Not yet?"

Rhaenyra remained silent as Daemon announced his plan to Dalton, as he had announced it to her before the two of them had left Harrenhal for Oldtown.

Jason Lannister left some of the Westerland's army behind, but not enough, Daemon had said to her. Not enough to fend off a combined attack between the Iron Born and our dragons. Not enough to protect the entire west coast.

"From there," Daemon continued, speaking to Dalton, "we conquer city by city, port by port. Gaining ships, men, gold and other riches as we go and leaving a trail of the corpses of Aegon's supporters in our wake."

Rhaenyra was pleased to see that the prospected seemed to excite Dalton, but bloodthirsty as the Red Kracken may be, he was neither naïve nor stupid.

"I don't particularly care which Targaryen sits the Iron Throne," Dalton said. "So tell me, Rogue Prince, why should I bear this risk so the realm may have a Queen instead of a King?" He snorted. "You neglected to mention that your nephew will not meekly sit by and fret whilst we conquer the western coast. He has dragons and armies of his own."

Fortunately, we prepared for this. And it was a price she was happy to pay.

"Indeed, he does have dragons and armies of his own," Daemon agreed. "But he will not be willing to pay for your support as we would."

Dalton nodded slowly. "And what, pray tell, would be my reward?"

The offer would need to come from her directly. As Queen, it was her sole discretion to grant it.

"Pyke will be permitted to stand as an independent kingdom," Rhaenyra declared regally. "Still permitted to do trade with Westeros, but you will not be subject to our laws nor our faith. You may remove any septons or septas from the Iron Islands and resume your worship of the Drowned God, as it was long before the days of the Conquest."

An offer Dalton little expected. And from the glimmer in Dalton's eye, an offer he very much wished to accept.

But alas, that glimmer was followed by a sadistic smile.

"You must be truly desperate to offer such a thing," Dalton said softly, sparking Rhaenyra's anger, but she dared not unleash it. "If I do not accept, you have no other options left to you but to beg for your brother's mercy."

Do not react, she commanded herself. Do not show him that he's angered you. He sees your dragons. He is goading you for a reason.

"If I am to help you, I want everything that you have already promised me, including every piece of bounty we sack. Every ship we claim is mine to keep," Dalton continued. "And I want Casterly Rock. As well as Lannisport. Also to be part of the Kingdom of the Iron Islands."

Lannisport?

She had no objection to removing Casterly Rock from Lannister control. They were traitors fighting in her brother's service. But allowing Lannisport to separate from the Seven Kingdoms would be a devastating blow, both in terms of taxation and unity of the realm. If Dalton took Lannisport, they faced great difficulty in ruling the Westerlands.

"You will sign a peace treaty with the Seven Kingdoms?" Daemon countered. "No attacking any ports or ships that do not belong to you?"

Dalton smiled insincerely. "Naturally."

A lie, she knew without question.

But there were no options left to her. Jace would soon have to abandon their last stronghold; Harrenhal would surely not withstand Aegon's onslaught. Without Greyjoy support, the war was well and truly lost. There would be no chance for vengeance against the Greens, let alone a chance to take back the Iron Throne.

Daemon and I have descendants, she told herself. And perhaps more children to come in the future. They may reclaim Lannisport for the Crown. But until then, I must ensure House Targaryen has any future at all, even if that future is not ideal.

"Agreed," she answered regally. "Now, ready your ships for war. We have not a moment to lose."

Dalton laughed victoriously, grinning a mad grin that unnerved her. "Our ships are always ready for warfare, Your Grace."

Daeron

It seems I need not bring Jace back to King's Landing, Daeron thought as Sunfyre's roar grew louder, the beautiful golden beast flying closer and closer to Harrenhal. His fate will be decided here and now.

Ormund, Elmo Tully, Jason Lannister, and Criston Cole called their men to attention to prepare for the King's arrival, and as Aegon landed (with an armored Borros Baratheon in tow) the men-at-arms knelt before their King, including Daeron, proudly addressing his brother as, "Your Grace", until Aegon gave them permission to stand.

Aegon took his time thanking Elmo, Jason, Criston, and their men for their service, but when it came time for him to stand face to face with Daeron and Ormund, all traces of light and warmth drained from his face.

"Cousin. Brother. I am afraid I come bearing tragic news from Oldtown…"

At first, Daeron felt naught but an icy chill, freezing his bones from within as Aegon spoke. Not a lick of pain or anger or horror as Aegon described what had happened at the Starry Sept. To the ships and the Hightower soldiers. To the High Tower itself. His mind refused to accept Aegon's words as true; they rang in his ears like a child's grandiose exaggeration of a fantasy tale.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Oldtown was unmarred and unburnt. The lovely scent of moonbloom and pomegranates still wafted through the air, along with the unique scent that harkened of perfume. The streets bustled with scholars from all over the realm, come to seek knowledge. A city of beauty and wonder, as it always was. His second home.

Waiting for him to return to it.

His illusion shattered like fragile glass at the sound of Ormund's gasping wail.

They burnt it, a tiny voice inside of Daeron cried out like a frightened child. My family… A family he loved every bit as much as his family in King's Landing.

Shock and the icy chill that had yet to fade kept Daeron's eyes dry…for now. Shielding him from the torrent of grief he knew was to come. A shield that offered no shelter to Ormund, who began to choke on gasping sobs, even as Daeron reached up to lay a hand on his shoulder.

I love them too.

"There is nothing I can say or do to give them back to you, Cousin," Aegon said softly to Ormund. "All I can do is swear that this war shall end and justice shall be served. And that I myself shall do all within my power to help our beloved Oldtown heal."

It was then that Daeron caught sight of the expressions on the faces of some of the men surrounding him. Shock. Horror. Grief. Rage. Expressions shared, to some extent, by all.

Oldtown is not merely precious to the Hightowers, he realized. For years, Oldtown was very much the heart of Westeros. Where the maesters are trained. The heart of the Faith of the Seven, which most of them worship.

And one by one, the men-at-arms turned to glare furiously at the bound and helpless Jacaerys. Rhaenyra's son.

Aegon followed their gazes, then gave Ormund one last comforting pat on the arm before walking past him to approach Jace himself.

"He has information he means to trade, brother," Daeron said woodenly, forgetting to properly address Aegon as 'Your Grace', but fortunately, Aegon ignored the misstep.

"He believes we would be willing to bargain to spare his life?" Aegon asked coldly.

"No."

It was Jace that replied, not Daeron. To his credit, despite every man glaring at him as though they intended to lynch him then and there, Jace showed no fear, standing tall and meeting Aegon's gaze with as much dignity as he could muster with his hands and feet bound in manacles.

You'll get no respect from me for facing death bravely, bastard. Daeron sneered at him. You fought for your mother. You burned dozens of my men. Aegon would have spared your entire family had your mother bent the knee.

"I do not mean to bargain for my own life, uncle," Jace corrected. "I mean to bargain for the lives of my brothers and Lady Rhaena."

Aegon blinked, and Jace continued.

"My brothers are innocent children. Scarcely more than babes…"

"As are my children," Aegon countered. "That did not stay your mother's hand when she sent assassins to slaughter them."

Jace cringed, eyes downcast. "For what it's worth, the idea was Daemon's, not the Queen's. She did not sanction it."

"Even if I believed you, it changes nothing." Aegon folded his arms. "My children would be dead if not for Borros Baratheon. My wife and mother as well. Your faction does not get the privilege of pleading innocence when you cared nothing for the innocence of our women and children."

Daeron knew that Aegon did, in fact, care for the innocence of the children. And he knew that his brother was highly unlikely to put them to the sword even if Jace did not cooperate. But he needed to set the precedent that he would not allow himself to be manipulated.

It seemed to work, because Jace nodded. "If not for the sake of their innocence, then for the sake of the information I can provide. Swear to me that they will not be killed or harmed, and I will reveal everything I know about my mother and Daemon's future plans."

Information that could likely end the war in exchange for mercy Aegon was likely prepared to offer anyway. Nonetheless, his brother let the request linger for several long seconds before granting an answer.

"If the information you give bears fruit," Aegon said, "then I will make every reasonable effort to spare the boys. And I will treat Rhaena with fairness and mercy. But know this, Jacaerys, if you intentionally deceive me, I make no promises that any of them will live."

Jace nodded again, steeling his nerves and drawing a breath.

"They mean to recruit the Greyjoys of the Iron Islands."

Robert

This mistake shall be your downfall, Daemon, Robert managed to hold back his grin. I've brought the Iron Born to their knees before. Me and Ned.

Though of course, he remained silent, observing respectfully whilst the Lannisters and some of the Riverland lords snarled angrily.

"And where do they mean to strike?" Aegon pressed. "The Iron Born could pose a threat anywhere from the Wall to the Arbor."

"I don't know, uncle," he admitted. "Daemon said they would need to rely on the Iron Born's expertise."

A few more questions from Jason Lannister and Elmo Tully similarly yielded no results. Not for a refusal to cooperate, but for ignorance. And with each question Jace was unable to answer, his confident façade began to crumble.

He's just a child too, Robert thought as he saw a flash of fear in Jace's eyes. A man grown by law, perhaps, but a child all the same. Younger than Ned and I when we fought the Rebellion. Young, fearless, and ready to fight for what we believed in.

Briefly, Robert entertained the ridiculous notion of recommending that Aegon spare the boy. But the impulse was fleeting, and he quashed it long before he could consider speaking it.

He can't, even if he wanted to. The boy needs to die. There is no other way.

"If you have nothing further to offer us, Jacaerys," Aegon said, "I suppose the only matter that remains is you."

Aegon kept his face impassive, the perfect mask of a dragon king, but nonetheless, Robert could sense his flicker of sadness.

He loved him once, Robert remembered. They were friends in their youth. Right up until Aemond lost his eye, I believe.

"Your vassals," Aegon gestured to where the Darrys, the Rootes, and the Freys stood, stripped of their weapons, their leaders wearing chains, "have bent the knee and called me King. And yet you've referred to me as 'uncle' rather than 'your grace', and you have referred to your mother as your queen. Am I to take that to mean you will not kneel, even in your surrender?"

Robert watched another flash of fear dash through Jace's eyes, but to the boy's credit, he smothered it, straightening his spine and affixing his face in a confident mask that he surely did not truly feel.

"No…Aegon," he said. "I have surrendered to spare my men. And I have cooperated to spare my brothers and Rhaena. But I will not lie to save my own hide. King Viserys named my mother his heir, and I was intended to sit the Iron Throne after her. You have usurped her crown, and I shall not call you King. Even if doing so would prolong my life."

And now Aegon has no choice, Robert thought, studying the King's impassive face. I pray he understands that.

He did, if the cool nod was any indication.

"I, Aegon Targaryen, Second of my Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, sentence you to die for the crime of rebellion and treason against the Crown," he said formally, to the satisfaction of the men around him. "You will not die under the name Velaryon. You will not die under the name Targaryen. Nor will you die under a highborn bastard's name, for Harwin Strong never chose to acknowledge you. History will remember you only as Jacaerys, the bastard son of a traitor."

Jace did not cry. He did not beg, plead, flinch, or show a further whisper of fear. Nor did he curse Aegon's name or spit at him, as Rhaena had. He meant to die like a man, not a frightened, angry child.

Not that it made it any easier to watch.

"Long live the Queen," Jace said simply as his last words before a pair of furious Hightower soldiers brought forth a wooden block and dropped it in front of him. He would not even be given the honor of dying by dragonfire.

Aegon turned to where Ormund stood. The Hightower lord still fought back his tears but only just. "Cousin," Aegon declared. "If you wish to claim his life, I will allow it. A small whisper of vengeance for House Hightower."

Ormund nodded, but when he went to draw Vigilance from its sheath, his hands shook violently as he struggled to raise the blade. Not with fear or reluctance, but from the force of the tears he was so desperately trying to hold back. It would not be a clean execution, if Ormund managed to take his head at all.

And Robert was not the only one who saw it.

Daeron gently stepped in closer to Ormund, resting his hand on his forearm.

"Twas you who knighted me, cousin," Daeron reminded him softly. "Twas you who helped to raise me and taught me a love of Oldtown. Allow me to serve as your knight now and claim justice for our House."

If Ormund was capable of answering, he did not say a word. Instead, he lowered the blade with his shaking hands and proffered it to Daeron, nodding wordlessly.

Seven Hells, this boy is only a pup…Yes, Daeron had claimed lives in service to his brother, but those lives were claimed on dragonback. Soldiers burned in Tessarion's cobalt flames whilst Daeron flew too high above them to properly see them as men. To fully understand the weight of what he was doing.

But he understood it now. Robert recognized the look in Daeron's eyes; he'd seen it countless times before. Rage for the horrors that befell Oldtown. Righteous wrath, for Jacaerys deserved to die for his crimes and his mother's. Bloodlust, a desperate, aching need for vengeance that burned the boy alive, body and soul.

But beneath all of that was a glimmer of terror. It was no easy thing to look into a man's eyes, as Daeron looked into Jace's, and know that you were about to extinguish the light from those eyes forever. Especially a man bound and helpless who posed no threat.

You'll remember it until the day you die, pup, Robert thought sagely as Jace was forced to his knees before Daeron, the wooden block beneath his neck. It isn't like dragonfire. You'll remember the face, the eyes, of every man you kill with your own hands.

And for a time, it will haunt your dreams as well. Righteous wrath or no.

But he'd been named Daeron the Daring for a reason. Whatever fear or weight he may have felt, it did not stop him from raising Vigilance high into the air and bringing it down with a mighty swing.

It was both quick and clean. If Jace felt pain, it would not have been for longer than a second or two before his head was parted from his body. As it fell to the grass, coating it red with his lifeblood, a pained roar echoed around them.

Vermax…

The green beast was chained and out of sight of his dead rider, but clearly he had felt it as Jace departed this earth. His forlorn cry pained Robert deep within his chest, a response he little expected to feel from a dragon's grief. A response shared by many of the men. Even Aegon himself closed his eyes at the sound, taking a slow breath before opening them again.

"Vermax will remain here for the time being," Aegon declared. "Until it is safe for us to bring him with us to King's Landing. He is to be kept in the dragon pit until such a time a future Targaryen claims him."

But he will live. Robert felt a small spark of solace at the thought. For in the original timeline, nearly all the dragons died. And for his generation, that was a good thing, for he never would have triumphed had Rhaegar rode into battle on dragonback rather than horseback.

But if I've played my cards right, this time, Rhaegar and most of his toxic ancestors will never be born. The Targaryen line will run through Aegon.

Jace's body was hauled away to be dumped into a mass pyre that would be set ablaze. Unlike Lucerys, who's body had been treated with the respect given a highborn boy, Jace was given no such honor.

Once the grim task was done, Aegon met the gaze of each leader of his men.. "We have a long night ahead of us. Separate the injured men from the healthy. All wounded will remain here at Harrenhal for the time being to heal and receive treatment. Ser Criston?" Aegon addressed the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. "You and your men will remain behind to guard Harrenhal and ensure it is not retaken. We may have need for you later, but for now, we owe them our protection. I will assign Vermithor to guard you. Lord Borros?"

"Yes, your grace?"

"As the King's Master of War, you shall assist us in formulating a plan of attack to stop the Iron Born before they can gain any traction. At first light, we march to meet with my brother Aemond and the Northerners. And then we end this fucking war once and for all."

Helaena

I am right where I need to be, she tried to remind herself as she looped the yarn around her knitting needles. I need to trust that. Even if it feels wrong.

All three of her brothers had left the Red Keep to fight the war. All three of her children had been tucked away in separate castles across the realm for safekeeping. And Helaena and Dreamfyre were left behind. She flew around the city several times a day to serve as a deterrent, but there was no point. She knew in her heart the Blacks would not be attacking King's Landing. At least not any time soon.

Borros Baratheon's words had been ringing in her ears since he spoke them. She did not fully understand Borros's gift (perhaps he was a Dreamer himself), but she knew beyond question that it was vitally important that she and her family trust his advice. And so when he warned her that she may one day need to fly Dreamfyre into combat, she'd been slowly bracing herself for the possibility.

Helaena had not been raised to be a warrior queen, nor did she have any desire to be one. She wanted to be the Queen who guarded the hopes of her people. A gentle hand to steer her husband and brothers down a kinder path when their inner dragons began to breathe fire. She wanted to help Aegon plan a future of prosperity. She wanted to raise her children to be strong leaders on their own one day. Fire and Blood was not in her heart…but if Borros warned her that she would need to embrace it, then she would do so happily.

I will not risk losing my brothers or my children because I was too timid to act.

Memories of how terrified, how powerless, she felt when Daemon sent assassins after her babes still haunted her, and she would never allow herself to be in such a position again. With her babes' lives in the hands of evil men.

Especially not now. She smiled as she added an extra row of stitching.

She ought have been sewing more black garments for herself (she would be wearing them for quite some time as a show of mourning for Oldtown), but she had been unable to resist knitting this blanket first. Made of the softest white wool that she could find, it would be warm and comfortable all through the coming winter.

And I will be needing it, she thought, pausing her knitting to gently brush her palm over her lower belly.

She had not yet told Aegon, but she'd known since this morning that she was carrying Aemond's child. The babe was barely even a quickening, but their lovemaking had succeeded. The little one (she could not yet see if it was a boy or girl) would be born just as the winter began to grow truly cold.

And if I wish for my new babe to be born into a realm of peace, I must do my part to ensure the stability of Aegon's reign.

She added another row to the blanket, then set the knitting down to finish later, stretching as she rose and headed for her door, Kingsguard following close behind her.

First, she stopped in the nursery to visit with Aegon the Younger and Viserys. Aegon was still curled up on his side in bed, shaking and fearful from the ordeal her husband had no choice but to subject him to. But he seemed calmer now at least, surrounded by his brother and nursemaids who were nothing but sweet to him.

The boys will have a difficult journey ahead of them, Helaena thought sadly as she watched Viserys gently put a toy next to Aegon's hand, urging him to come and play. But we will ensure they have everything they need. Come what may.

The next stop on her journey was harder. She did not like the Traitor's Walk, and it unnerved her to climb up the staircase to Rhaena's tower cell. But she forced herself to do it nonetheless, and when she reached the door and opened the cat flap, she was grateful she did.

Even if Rhaena's reply was a tearful, choking, "Fuck you! Traitor's whore!"

I am not a whore, she thought, the insult prickling as she cupped her belly protectively. The only men I have ever bedded are my husband and Aemond, which was done with my husband present and giving his full consent. The three of us made the choice together to conceive this babe.

Though of course, Rhaena would have no inkling that Helaena was pregnant. She was merely lashing out. And even through the cat flap, Helaena could see why. Rhaena had clearly been crying ever since she was imprisoned, her eyes red and puffy, and she hadn't eaten a single bite of the food that had been given to her. But most importantly, Helaena saw what her Dream had warned her of: Rhaena had started unwinding the end of the bandage that the maester used to stabilize her ribs.

"I'm not your enemy, Rhaena," Helaena said softly. "I'm here to tell you that your plan won't work."

Rhaena spat at her, even though she obviously stood no chance of hitting her.

"You're under watch here, Rhaena," Helaena continued. "When you try to hang yourself with your bandages, the guards will hear you and stop you before you can succeed in ending your life."

At last, her words seemed to sink in. Rhaena tensed, eyeing Helaena warily. "I wasn't…"

"You were," Helaena corrected. "And when you fail, my grandfather will move you to a black cell and keep you manacled to the wall to prevent you from trying it again."

She didn't want to frighten Rhaena, so she left out the details of how horrid her stay in the black cells would be, especially with her hands bound, unable to defend herself when a rat or two slipped into the cell alongside her.

Regardless of her keeping the details to herself, the words frightened Rhaena. Tears fell anew, and she grabbed the pillow from her bed, pulling it tight to her chest.

"Rhaena," Helaena spoke softly. "It needn't be this way…"

"Do not play the sympathetic ally," Rhaena said, words cracking beneath her tears. "You are the wife of the usurper."

"Aegon is not a usurper," Helaena corrected patiently. "He is King Viserys's eldest son. By precedent and by law, he is the rightful King. And already, he is proving himself to be a good one."

Rhaena snorted.

"Truly, he is," Helaena insisted.

The future, of course, was still muddled with several different potential outcomes. But Helaena often let her mind wander to her favorite. Not all of Aegon's plans for the future of Westeros would bear fruit, and some would bear less fruit than what he wanted. But many of them would. And he would leave the realm better than he found it.

"Good King or evil King, it is all the same," Rhaena groused. "He stole his sister's throne. And he will kill everyone with Targaryen blood to secure his reign. Myself included."

Helaena waited patiently until Rhaena was finished speaking and her crying died down. "Have you forgotten that we are Targaryen as well?" she asked quietly. "Our mother is a Hightower, yes, but the blood of Old Valyria runs through my veins, same as yours. We have silver hair and violet eyes, same as you. We are dragon riders. We speak High Valyrian." She paused a moment before adding, "And we have no intention of eradicating our kin unless no option remains to us. If you recall, we made several attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra's side of the family."

For a second, Rhaena hesitated, a flash of doubt in her eyes…but then she shook her head.

"I know what your husband ordered done to my sister."

She did not bother to hide her wince. "If it's worth anything, Rhaena, it was done after she was given a quick death. Not before. Her body was staged that way as a warning to Daemon, but Baela and Moondancer were killed because they flew into combat. She knew the risks when she got on Moondancer's back, but she chose to take them anyway. We spared the civilians of Driftmark."

Another flash of doubt, and this time, when Rhaena shook her head, it was slower. "I don't believe you…"

"Be that as it may," Helaena continued. "If we were going to harm you, we would have done it by now. His grace is keeping you as a hostage because we do not wish for you to die."

"No," she said coldly. "He only wishes to keep me trapped in this cell until I die of old age."

"You were given accommodations in keeping with your status," Helaena reminded her. "We had no choice but to take them when you tried to escape."

Rhaena said nothing, hand absentmindedly lingering atop her broken ribs. Undoubtedly, she was questioning the wisdom of that decision. Even if she escaped the castle, she would never have gotten far on foot, alone.

"This will go much more smoothly for you if you cooperate with us, Rhaena," she added. "If you give us cause to believe that you will not be a danger to yourself or to us. It may even open the door for more options in the future."

As for what those options would be…Well, Helaena was a Dreamer, but she was not omniscient. Those options would be limited, what with Daemon and Rhaenyra's actions, especially in Oldtown. But there would be options…assuming Rhaena accepted things as they were.

And hopefully, for her sake, I've planted the first seed, she thought as she closed the cat flap and walked away from the cell. Rhaena is no more to blame for Daemon than Aegon is to blame for our own father.    

But as Helaena descended, a familiar feeling clouded her mind, and she had to grip the railing to keep herself from toppling down the staircase, to the concern of her Kingsguard.

"Your grace?" he asked, but Helaena had not a moment to answer him before the first whispers of the Dream claimed her.

The Dream was unclear, flashing images and feelings rather than the full and proper visions to which she had grown accustomed. A dragon's roar. Fire. Screaming. A powerful rush of terror that had her clawing at her throat.

And through it all, Lord Borros Baratheon's voice.

You're stronger than you think, my Queen. There's a dragon in you as well. You just need to swap out that delicate skin of yours for a set of scales.

It's coming. Soon.

"Your Grace?" her Kingsguard said again, touching her elbow delicately. "Shall I bring you to the maester?"

"No," she whispered softly, letting her hand trail down the gown she wore until it rested over her belly. "No, escort me back to my chambers. I need to don my riding clothes."

For sooner rather than late, I will need them.